Page 89 of Barre Fight
“Well, home was home, but this place was a haven. And that was all I had.”
Ivy let out a breath and nodded in recognition. “I remember that feeling.”
“Which one?”
“That ballet was all I had. That it was the only thing that made meme. When I stopped dancing, it felt like I vanished,because without ballet I didn’t really know who I was.” She shook her head darkly. “My best friend would say that ballet wants people to feel that way, because why else would they put up with the pain and the sexism? Why put yourself through all that and make all these sacrifices if ballet’s not essential to your very being?”
“But you didn’t vanish,” he said. “You found a whole other career that you’re really good at. You became?—”
“Poison Ivy?” she asked, one brow raised.
“I was going to say you became a journalist, but okay. You found another thing that makes youyou.”
Ivy tipped her head, thinking. “I used to think that. But journalism doesn’t make meme. And neither did ballet. They shaped me, obviously, but I’m who I am because of my family and my friends. I’m me because I grew up watching my parents dote on each other, and listening to Broadway musicals with my opa. I grew up dancing, too, but I don’t think I reallygrew upand figured out who I was until I didn’t have ballet to lean on anymore. I’ll probably always love it, and a part of me will probably always resent that it rejected me over a couple of centimeters. But ballet didn’t make me who I am. Getting over ballet made me who I am.”
He leaned back in his seat and turned his head to the side, and looked at her for a long moment. His chest felt full and tight with that longing again, that need to grab her and hold on to her as she discovered all the things that really made her the spectacular woman she was. He wanted to learn all of her. Love all of her.
He didn’t say that. Instead, he glanced down at her feet and said, “You stopped wearing high heels.”
She followed his gaze with her own and flexed her feet against the straps of her flat sandals, tipping her head as she watched her toes wiggle. “I finally admitted that most ofthem are really uncomfortable, and that between a decade of pointe shoes and another decade of stilettos, maybe I’ve tortured myself long enough. And besides,” she looked at him with a sly grin, “a wise man once told me I have Tall Girl Energy.”
“A wise man, huh?”
She nodded. “Very wise, except for his views on musicals. A really good kisser, too, and you would not believe the feet on this man. They’re a gift from god and I don’t even think I believe in god. And they’ve taken him to amazing places and he’s built a beautiful life with them. And he’s kind of going through some stuff at the moment, but he’s going to figure it all out.”
Justin sighed and looked out the window at the ruins of his former haven. On the other side of the street, a car was approaching and he watched as it approached, slowed, and stopped. Miss Mary, probably, or the mayor.
He was figuring it all out. He was figuring out how to forgive this place, how to be from this town without running from it. Ivy had already helped more than she knew, and he knew she’d hold him as he did the rest.
Ivy was watching the car, too, and as Miss Mary and Mayor Holmes got out of the front seat, she reached for her seatbelt. “Maybe this town has changed. It’s been two decades, maybe people are different now.” She sounded tentative, but hopeful.
“I wouldn’t know.” He hadn’t come back here often enough to find out. He’d run away and stayed away, unwilling to find out if the town was changing, or to play any role in that change. “ButI’mdifferent now.”
“And maybe this place will surprise you. Let’s go find out,” she smiled, and she opened the door. He followed her, because he wanted to follow her almost anywhere she went. And he wanted her to be right.
The last time Ivy had coordinated a photo opp, Kat and Alice had posed on the steps of Lincoln Center Plaza, pointe shoes tied together and slung over the shoulders of their parkas. It had been below zero that day, and the photographer from theWall Street Journalhad wanted the two women to pose in costume, meaning a traditional tutu for Kat and nothing but a pale pink leotard for Alice. Alice had flat-out refused, and while Kat had initially been willing to pose with a warm-up jacket and leg warmers on top of her tutu, once she’d actually stuck her head out the stage door and felt how icy the air was, she’d joined Alice’s camp. Ivy could hardly blame them, even if it had taken a little smoothing over with the photographer. She’d convinced him that readers might like the idea of Australian ballet dancers, accustomed to hot summers by the beach, all bundled up in their winter coats. Eventually he’d gone for it, and the women had posed in jeans and boots and warm coats, holding attitudes with smiles on their faces and their shiny salmon-pink shoes hanging around their necks. The photos turned out well.
This photo opp could not have been more different. For one thing, it was sweltering, and Ivy had started sweating the moment she’d killed the car engine. For another, instead of posing in the shadow of three of the most significant arts institutions in the world, Justin, his former teacher, and the mayor, were standing in front of the blackened ruins of the local church hall. And instead of pointe shoes as a prop, they had the giant fake cheque Ivy had arranged. It was almost as long as she was tall, as Justin jokingly noted, turning it on its side and holding it next to her. It came up to her shoulder.
The photographer from theBlue Mountains Gazettewas quick and easily satisfied, and the reporter from Channel 7—a petite woman in a headscarf who looked so young she couldn’t have been more than a few months out of journalism school—did a friendly interview with Miss Mary about what rebuildingthe school would mean for her students. She asked Justin and the mayor some softballs, then walked away to film her stand-ups.
“I think that went pretty well,” nodded the mayor. She was a stout, short-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-forties, and she was dressed in jeans and black polo shirt. She wore a pair of dusty brown Blundstones and had a decidedly no-nonsense air about her, and Ivy had the feeling that the people of Hillstone would take comfort in being led by someone who looked like she was as comfortable on a job site as she was in a council chamber.
“Very well,” Ivy agreed, holding one hand over her forehead.
“I need to get back to the fire station,” the mayor said. “We’ve set up a bit of a command center there and a few local business owners whose homes are livable are trying to open back up this week. Lots to do.”
“Of course, we understand,” Justin said. “Thanks for being here.”
“Thankyoufor everything you’re doing for us. It’s good to have you back.” She extended her hand and Justin hesitated for a moment before shaking it. The mayor turned to Ivy. “If there are any other press inquiries, I’ll send them your way, if that’s alright by you. As you can see, my hands are pretty full at the moment.”
Ivy nodded, and was about to speak when, to her surprise, the mayor turned to Miss Mary and dropped into a ballet curtsy. It wasn’t very deep, since she was wearing jeans, but it was… serviceable. Ivy stared.
“Good to see you, Miss Mary,” the mayor said, and she stood up and gave the ballet teacher a deferential nod.
“Lovely to see you as always, Meghan,” Miss Mary said witha fond smile. “You’re doing splendidly with all this. Very proud of you.”
The mayor gave what looked like an abashed shrug, and her abrupt seriousness briefly vanished as she blushed at Miss Mary’s praise. “I better get going,” she said with a little smile, then she raised a hand in a stiff wave and walked away.
